


Making a Decision

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Series: The Barton Pack [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bingo, Clint Barton Bingo 2019, Good Things Happen Bingo, Marvel Bingo 2019, Multi, Pack Building, Pack Dynamics, Soulmates, minor age character, pairing implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: Clint rescues a teenage girl and finds more than he could have ever expected.





	Making a Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this came from me wanting play with pack dynamics. [This is **NOT** a standard ABO fic - I don't write smut, pwp, etc. (Mpreg is also a squick of mine - so I don't do that kind of thing either.)] Instead it's more along the lines of a relationship thing. Add in the soulmate thing and this came on out. 
> 
> BINGO squares:  
> Marvel - Collar  
> Clint Barton - Cuddling  
> Bad Things - Whipping  
> Good Things - Found family  
> Fluff - Huddling for warmth

Heart stopping moments of fear and adrenaline made up the tiniest portion of his life. Maybe one day out of every sixty? Or ninety? Somehow the movies gave the impression that spies, soldiers, and special agents lived life on the edge – twenty-four, seven, three sixty five. Clint gave a soft snort as he made his way towards the first of his observation points. They’d all die of exhaustion if they lived that way. No, most of his time involved a great deal of ‘hurry up and wait’. Training, war games, observation, meetings, planning – stuff that bored most people to tears. Personally he didn’t mind so much . . . but then again, he included patience as one of his greatest virtues.

And he admitted to enjoying the occasional bouts of edge of the seat action, but he preferred working out a puzzle, seeing how all the pieces came together to form the bigger picture.

For the moment, though, he had a particular puzzle to figure out - the Dennison couple. 

International gun runners, the couple should probably be someone else’s target, but they pinged Fury’s paranoid radar which made them S.H.I.E.L.D.’s problem. Clint climbed up a tree across the field from the property to scan the house. They’d been watching the place for weeks now and Coulson decided they needed to get some hardware installed to help with the surveillance. Eyes and ears on the inside would be a damn sight better than the current gossip and guesswork, but something about the set-up bothered him. According to their intel, there should be three people living here – father, mother, and a teenage daughter named Darcy. He’d seen the files, knew the names and vital statistics for all three . . . but they didn’t have a recent picture of the girl.

Neighborhood gossip didn’t even mention her – like she didn’t exist.

Yeah, that bugged him. Being one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents meant he knew how to keep a damn secret . . . and a ridiculous number of people knew about _his_ protege. He’d only picked up the kid a couple of years ago; so how the hell did these people keep a daughter out of sight for **months** from the nosy biddies of this small town? Okay, not a fair comparison. Old timers knew about the girl; he’d heard comments and whispers of pity - something about the child being slow or a burden - but that didn’t explain three days without so much as a sighting.

“Looks like they’re preparing to leave.” Coulson’s voice came steady and calm over his earpiece. “No sign of the daughter.”

“Copy that.”

Moving through the shadows, Clint made his way to another tree, this one on the edge of the property itself. Once the couple left the house - and his backup confirmed the deactivation of security - it would be simple and quick to gain access. His thoughts went back to the teenage girl who should live here. Where was she? Was she away somewhere? He made a face as his instincts rebelled at the thought. Okay, so he figured families should stick together . . . it’s not like his did such a great job of that. Not that he’d wish that kind of screwed up family life on anyone, but it happened. A low growl rumbled in his chest, shocking him.

_What the hell?_

Surprise at his own reaction held him still as he watched shadows moving in the lights of the house. While his status as an Alpha meant his instincts rode close to the surface, he didn’t usually lose control of them - especially not over some kid he’d never met. Maybe Coulson was right - he really did need a vacation.

Despite his status, he tended to live his life as a Sigma - the independent, lone wolf type. Ever since Barney walked out on him as a teenager, unable to handle having an Alpha as a kid brother, Clint stayed to himself. Sure, he’d had companions and close acquaintances in the circus, then the Army, but he kept himself from forming permanent bonds. He made sure the women he picked up from time to time understood he had no intention of staying. People of various levels - Beta on down to Sigma - sought him out from time to time, but he turned them all down. So far, he’d only bent that rule once. 

And he had yet to figure out **why** he’d decided to scrap his mission in order to save a rebellious sixteen year old.

Two years ago, they’d been looking into some odd events in Massachusetts when a family drama erupted all over the news and brought too much media to the area. S.H.I.E.L.D. hung around, planning to lay low until everything blew over so they could get back on the job. That put Clint in the right area at the right time to put together a puzzle that landed him in the middle of the drama.

Kind of.

Grant Ward, the sixteen year old middle son of the high society family, set fire to the family home . . . with his older brother inside. The local police arrested him and the family decided to prosecute, pushing for the kid to be tried as an adult. While the idea didn’t impress him, the situation didn’t involve S.H.I.E.L.D. so it wasn’t Clint’s business. 

Right?

Right.

Until he got too close and caught the Gamma’s half-defiant, half-resigned - and all terrified - scent. Something about it tugged at Clint’s gut. Since he’d learned to follow his instincts, he made arrangements to meet with the kid. It took a little poking and prodding, but eventually Grant spilled his guts. Clint put the puzzle together: an abusive, domineering mother combined with a weak, ineffectual father plus a psychopath for an older brother combined to create a desperate, needy kid. He also happened to be smart, clever, and gutsy. **And** he stood on a very thin highwire - one push would be all it took to send the kid’s potential into a very dark place. So Clint ditched the mission, arranged to adopt the teenager, and hauled him out of state as soon as arrangements could be made between the proper authorities.

Then he spent two months doing the most menial tasks imaginable around headquarters - and mountains of paperwork - as punishment.

Fury hated seeing his plans fall apart.

“Hawkeye, you’re clear,” Coulson announced, interrupting his trip down memory lane. “The security system is down and the house reads as empty. See what you can find.”

“Copy,” Clint replied, his voice crisp and professional. “Hawkeye, out.”

Cautious, but quick, he made his way into the house, all of his senses extended to their fullest. Now he could start picking up the blended scents of the couple and try to find the best places for S.H.I.E.L.D.’s little toys. Everything seemed to be coated with the smells of dill and licorice. His nose wrinkled as he tried not to grumble about it - he hated that candy. Given the lack of a third scent, he guessed the daughter must be out of town after all.

_. . . no, wait._

He crouched in the kitchen and drew in a deep breath. _There._ Another scent lingered here, so light as to be nonexistent, but he could just make out a warm spicy cinnamon marred by pain and fear. The growl rumbled in his chest again as he sifted through it to try and get some details. Young and female, that much he could tell, but a hint of something else tugged at his gut. Underneath her personal fragrance, he detected the deeper scent of her status - the sweet honey notes of an omega.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Hawkeye?” Still calm, but now holding a new concern, Coulson’s voice drew him back into focus. “Report.”

“I know the plan was in and out, no fingerprints,” he began.

“But?”

“There’s definitely a minor living here.” Clint rose out of his crouched position, eyes sweeping the room. “Going to blow that mission, Coulson.” 

For a moment he heard nothing over the comm unit and he began to track the girl. Wherever they stashed her, he **would** find her. The thread of scent led him to a door, one he’d thought belonged to the pantry, but her trail seemed too faint for her to be just on the other side. No kid deserved to have that sour scent of pain and fear, but one of humanity’s rare omegas? Yeah, he might catch shit for screwing the job, but he’d take the heat if it meant getting the girl out of whatever kind of hell she’d lived in. And it had to be hell, didn’t it?

A heavy sigh in his ear distracted him as he reached for the door. “Before I have to call the Director to report this, would you mind telling me **why** we’re throwing away two months’ worth of work?”

His lips twitched despite the seriousness of the situation. An image of Phil Coulson came to his mind - a crystal clear picture of the serious Beta pinching the bridge of his nose as the man tried to figure out how exactly to explain to his Alpha that Special Agent Clint Barton once again intended to go off the rails over a teenager. “Haven’t seen her yet,” he acknowledged, “but I can smell the pain and the fear.” Opening the door, he found a set of stairs leading down. His eyebrows rose - most houses in this part of Virginia didn’t come with basements.

“Barton-.”

“She’s Omega.”

Now he heard the muttering coming over the comm, but he ignored it to make his way down the stairs. While most of the room below lay in shadows, light from the kitchen gave him enough sight to be able to keep descending. The scent of cinnamon honey deepened - as did other odors. A coppery smell of rust made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It didn’t take much for him to start painting a picture of what he’d find when he reached the bottom and flipped the switch he could see down there. 

A **bad** picture.

He knew better than to let his imagination run away with him. Sure, he needed to prepare for the worst possible outcome and have contingencies ready, but he also needed to keep himself focused on reality. The rusty scent **could** be old blood. Or it could be from bad plumbing. Not every situation automatically meant the worst.

He reached the bottom step and flipped the switch.

A small cry came as the bright yellow light flooded the windowless room. His eyes, already prepared for the change, swept the place and locked on the girl in the corner.

“Well . . . shit.”

Her hands, bound at the wrists by police-issue cuffs, blocked the brightest light as she tried to stare at him through narrowed eyes. _How long had she been sitting in the dark?_ Bruises - from new purple to fading yellow - darkened her pale skin where they formed random patterns on her legs, arms, and face. Worse than any physical marks was the scent of her fear beginning to permeate the room. 

“Hey.” Possibly the stupidest way to start a conversation, but he had to start somewhere. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’m here to help.”

A few moments passed in silence as they stared at each other. She blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the light and when she lowered her hands, he spotted the thin metal band encircling her throat. A collar . . . they put a damn **collar** on her. When she shifted to face him directly, he spotted the chain linking the collar to the wall. He pushed down the wrath as she tilted her head. “Help who with what?” she asked. “My parents?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t like your parents,” he muttered. Sitting down on the bottom step to give her a chance to grow accustomed to his presence, he considered his next move. “Coulson,” he murmured, knowing the man would still be listening in. “We clear for you to send another guy inside?”

“Who do you want?”

“Rumlow.”

Coulson paused. “Why?”

“Because I know him.”

“Very well.” 

Clint could hear the uncertainty in his handler’s voice. The man didn’t understand the connection between his asset and the S.T.R.I.K.E. team leader. Sometimes Clint didn’t understand it either, but Brock Rumlow once did him a big favor and never asked for repayment or recognition. That kind of thing went a long way in his world.

“Tell him to head for the kitchen, but be slow about coming downstairs.”

“The plans don’t show any stairs in that location.”

“Yeah, well, our intel is wrong.” A situation that pissed him off, but he knew he could leave it with Coulson. Nothing the man hated more than inaccurate intelligence unless it happened to be inefficiency. “Going silent.”

“Acknowledged.”

Reaching up, Clint turned off his comm unit. He offered the girl a tiny smile, spreading his hands to look as unthreatening as possible. Haunted blue eyes stared back at him, widening as he rose to move forward. “Don’t be afraid, _pisicuța_.” Steady footsteps brought him to her side where he dropped into a crouch. He reached out to brush back a lock of hair. “I’m going to get you out of here.” His fingertips brushed her forehead.

If possible, her eyes went even larger, her body curling up a bit more as she lifted her cuffed hands to her chest. She rubbed her fingertips across the shirt, just over her heart, and he paused. Bewilderment flickered in his mind at her reactions, prompting him to wait for her to settle before making another move. It took a moment, but then she blinked and her lips trembled. “Is this a dream?” she murmured as she reached out to touch his face. “Or a nightmare?”

Shock shot through him as a sharp stinging sensation burned its way across a patch of skin over his heart. 

_What the hell is the universe thinking?_

As if dealing with various senses and dynamic-based issues weren’t enough of an issue, people often found themselves wrestling with another . . . situation. Clint hesitated to call it either a ‘blessing’ or a ‘problem’ - though he knew people who would argue both sides of the question. Call it an act of God or a whim of fate, everyone carried the potential to form a soulmate bond. No one knew just what might prompt the bond, and it didn’t _necessarily_ have to be romantic . . . though most became just that. People didn’t seem to want a significant other who shared such a deep bond with another person. 

Go figure.

Some theorized the bond brought balance to the partners while others thought it meant stronger and healthier offspring - and both sides of the discussion possessed evidence to back up their beliefs. Not something Clint wanted to think about as he stared at the fifteen year old in front of him. 

Rarest of all the sets, Omegas tended to protected - probably to an insane degree. Making up only five percent of the population, they also usually produced the most diplomatic and nurturing individuals, traits almost as vital as their fertility. Families celebrated when they produced one. Any organization - from nonprofits to corporations - gave big signing bonuses and benefit packages to any Omega who joined them. Add in humanity’s low fertility rate since the Catastrophe? An Omega - male or female - could write their own future and **someone** would jump to make it happen.

Now the Powers That Be decided to make **this** one his soulmate?

_She’s a kid! And half my fucking age!_

“Not a dream,” he assured her despite the protest flashing through his mind. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“They’ll kill you.” Tears gathered in her eyes, a few of them spilling down her cheeks.

“No, _pisicuța_ , they won’t.” Clint’s voice held hard determination. “And they’re not going to hurt you anymore either.” 

“Hawkeye?”

Darcy flinched at the sudden voice, pulling back as if to hide behind him. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured as he shifted enough to shield her from sight. “He’s a friend.” Looking back to where the other man stood at the top of the stairs, he caught the cold glare Rumlow aimed at the chains. “Check for keys,” he ordered. “I want to get her out of here”

“You got it.”

Yeah, he’d picked the right guy. Clint might not know all the details, but he’d figured out some of Rumlow’s hot buttons a long time ago . . . and people abusing kids pissed the man off. He also wanted something from Clint. Not that he’d actually **asked** for anything. Brock Rumlow just made a habit of being around; somehow he always ended up where Clint needed him **when** Clint needed him to be there. Odd? A little. Creepy? Only if Rumlow were into guys - which Clint had long since crossed off as a potential issue.

As an Alpha, he’d certainly had weirder stalkers than the intense, dark-haired Delta.

Right now he needed to focus on the girl in front of him. His soulmate. The sheer insanity of that wasn’t going to wear off anytime soon. “I’m Clint.” He took her chin in his hand, turning her face so he could get a better look at the bruises. “We’re going to take care of you, Darcy.”

“Okay?”

He’d prefer if she didn’t sound so hesitant, but he couldn’t blame her. Two complete strangers barrelling into her life and turning it upside down would have thrown a well-adjusted kid. Hopefully they wouldn’t scar the already wounded teen beyond all recognition. It did beg the question - how the hell did he keep picking up teenagers? Was this going to be a thing now?

First he gets a protégé in Grant Ward . . . and now a soulmate in this kid?

“Found some keys,” Rumlow announced from the stairs. “These people are organized bastards.”

“Toss them here.” Clint appreciated the man hanging back, not crowding Darcy. His hand shot up to catch the jingling keys and began to search for the right ones to free her. “I want you watching my back when I take her out. Soon as we’re out, you can have the team take the place apart.”

“Won’t that be fun?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Clint watched as Rumlow leaned against the wall and began to toss a knife in the air, catching it as it fell. “Got any arguments?”

“Nope.”

“Coulson didn’t sound happy with my screwing the mission.”

Rumlow gave a soft snort. “That’s got nothing to do with saving the girl. Man hates having his schedule fucked up.”

Unlocking the collar, Clint tossed it away from Darcy with a low growl. He could almost feel the room go silent as all movement stilled. Ignoring that, he brushed his fingers over the marks on her throat. “Any other injuries, _pisicuța_?” 

“Just bruises,” she replied, then her gaze dropped. 

“Truth, please.”

Her eyes flew back to meet his and he watched her throat muscles work as she swallowed. “My . . . my back,” she whispered.

Clasping her shoulders in his hands, gentle, but firm, he turned her so she faced the wall. He took hold of the hem of her shirt to pull it up. Welts, old and new, littered her back. “I may kill them for this.” At his soft words, he felt the tension of the room go up another notch. He traced a line underneath one of the recent marks. “They’d deserve it.”

“True.”

He shot a glare at Rumlow. “Objections?”

“None.” The Delta walked down the stairs, stopping at the bottom when Clint growled. He dropped into a crouch, subservience in the lines of his body though he kept his eyes focused on Clint. “They’d deserve it,” he repeated, “but I think she needs you more right now.”

“Yeah.” Agreement, albeit a little reluctant, lined his tone. “I hear you.”

“If they’re still around when she’s safe, I’ll help you hide bodies.”

That drew a soft snort of amusement. “We’ll both end up in the brig.”

Rumlow gave a wry grin. “I could use a vacation.”

“You haven’t been on Fury’s shit list yet, have you?” Clint shook his head as he lowered Darcy’s shirt back in place. “He likes giving us paperwork.” Rumlow grimaced and he chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a magnificent bastard.” With a soft touch,he turned Darcy back to face him. “It’s time to go,” he told her. “Are you ready?”

Trepidation kindled in those gray-blue eyes. “They’ll come after me . . . they won’t let me go.” Her fingers curled around his. “He wanted to dump me somewhere, but she says I’m too valuable a commodity.”

“Neither of them will ever touch you again.” Clint tightened his grip on her. “We won’t let them.” His eyes flashed to Rumlow and back. “Believe me, _pisicuța_.”

“O-okay…”

Cupping the back of her head with his free hand, he pulled her close and brushed a kiss over her temple. “You’ll be safe,” he promised. When she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, he looked at Rumlow. A light growl entered his voice. “Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” the Delta agreed, nodding in agreement.

Clint paused, steel blue eyes locking with brown. “She’s my soulmate.” Surprise flashed in Rumlow’s eyes only to be replaced by laughter. “Laugh it up,” he muttered, his hand brushing down Darcy’s back as she shuddered. He could feel her trying to pull her emotions under control. She curled into him as if trying to look for warmth.

“You’re going to get one hell of a reputation," Rumlow pointed out. “Bringing in two teenagers in as many years?

“Shut up.” That thought had already occurred to him. Rising to his feet, he reached down to lift Darcy into his arms. She bit her lip and he wanted to curse at the pain he caused her, but he needed to get her out of this hellhole. His gaze locked with Rumlow’s. “You’re on guard.”

“Always.” Rising, he turned to go up the stairs, but then he paused. He rubbed a hand over his face before turning back. “Keep Sitwell away from her.”

The unsolicited advice sent Clint’s eyebrows shooting up. “Say what now?”

“Just a piece of advice.”

“Same type of advice that you gave me about keeping Grant safe from Garrett?”

Rumlow made a face even as caution filtered into his eyes. “Pretty much,” he agreed. “Same reason, different severity.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to explain that.”

“Maybe.” Something like regret moved through his dark eyes. “I’m kind of restricted there.”

He paused, arms tightening on Darcy as he narrowed his gaze. “By choice?” he asked. “Or because of orders?”

“Little of both.” Rumlow turned and led the way upstairs, trusting Clint at his back. “Mostly the second.”

“Good to know.” Feeling Darcy trembling in his hold, he took a moment to murmur some reassurances as they stepped out into the kitchen. Rumlow pulled out his gun as he headed for the door with Clint right behind him. “It’s going to take a Claim, isn’t it?”

Cursing as he stumbled, Rumlow tossed him an exasperated look. “What the fuck?”

“You can’t tell me due to orders,” Clint shrugged. Maybe people knew his sniping abilities best, but Fury didn’t put up with an irreverent Alpha hanging around just because he could shoot. “But you want to - and you’re trying to get around the restrictions with the warnings.” He lifted his eyebrows. “So I’m guessing it’s going to take a formal Claim.”

“I’m not angling for anything.” The automatic protest lacked real strength.

“Bullshit.”

“Kiss my ass, Barton.”

He would have tossed back another comment, but the tiniest of giggles breathed over his collarbone, drawing a smile. The light sound made his shoulders relax. “Think we’re funny, do you, _pisicuța_?”

“A little,” she admitted, lifting her head to glance between them. The wariness lingered in her eyes, but he didn’t blame her for that. “What do you keep calling me?”

“It means ‘kitten’ in Romany.”

“Don’t mind him, princess,” Rumlow added. “He likes tossing foreign phrases around.”

“My name’s Darcy.” She bit her lip. “This is probably kind of late to be asking, but where are you taking me?”

“Out of here.”

“And then?”

“Somewhere safe.” Clint waited as Rumlow did a scan of the yard. “I promise, Darcy, I’m going to do my damndest to make sure you’re as safe as humanly possible.”

“Looks like the circus is coming.” 

All three looked up as several vehicles pulled up the long driveway. Things got a little chaotic as S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel piled out and began to prepare to invade the Dennison household. Clint didn’t care about any of that. He arrowed towards the second vehicle - the one with the medical supplies. Worrying about the mission would come after he saw to Darcy’s care. Rumlow angled his head towards the lead vehicle and he nodded. The Delta split off to deal with Coulson and his team as Clint opened a first aid kit. After some basic medical care, Darcy sat in the back of the SUV, her legs dangling over the bumper. Clint stood beside her, his stony stare staving off any curiosity from his fellow agents. 

“Team’s ready.” Rumlow came back to their side. “Coulson’s gotten authorization to let us confiscate everything.”

“Can they handle it without you?”

“Yeah.” He looked towards the team. “Rollins! Take it apart.”

Jack Rollins, second-in-command of S.T.R.I.K.E., nodded and led his people towards the house. Rumlow leaned against the open door of the SUV, standing as a sort of guard between them and the rest of the world. For a few minutes, the three of the watched as S.H.I.E.L.D. did their best ‘men in black’ imitation.

“Not really your team’s usual kind of assignment,” Clint noted.

“Boss says we go,” Rumlow shrugged, “and we go.” A raised eyebrow from the sniper drew a grin. “And we might have pissed him off last month.”

“Doing what?”

“Three of my people on the injured list - meant my team spent a month on downtime.” His lips twitched. “How’s the old saying go? ‘Idle hands are the devil’s tools’? Whatever . . . I don’t think Fury found our way of letting off steam as amusing as we did.”

“Yeah, **that** sounds like Fury.”

Darcy cuddled into Clint’s side. “Can I change my name?”

“What?”

“If I don’t have to stay with them anymore, can I change my name?” she repeated. “I don’t want to be a Dennison.”

“You can call yourself whatever you want,” Clint assured her. “That’s just paperwork.”

“And we’ve got all the forms.” Rumlow chuckled when she glanced at him. “Trust me, princess - nothing S.H.I.E.L.D. likes better than shuffling paper . . . in triplicate.”

“Quit trying to scare her.” 

“Barton.” Coulson stepped up to the trio, his bland gaze sweeping over them. “Fury would like you to consider **not** adopting this one.”

“Good luck?” The S.H.I.E.L.D. handler cocked an eyebrow at the S.T.R.I.K.E. team leader and Rumlow shrugged. He tilted his head towards the others as he waved a lazy hand between them. “Soulmates.”

One long slow blink conveyed the absolute shock caused by that announcement before Coulson gathered his stoic armor back around him. Clint wanted to ask why he bothered, considering all of them picked up on the scent. Darcy’s hands curled tighter around his arm and he could smell her fear starting to stir again. Tilting his head, he nuzzled her temple as a low growl rumbled in his chest. She relaxed into him at the sound and he almost grinned as Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll just start the paperwork, shall I?”

“Good idea.” Clint paused in consideration as his eyes flickered between Darcy and Rumlow, then he gave a small huff of amusement as he rolled his eyes. “Hell. You better pull the forms for a Claim as well. I might as well make it official.”

Now everyone stared at him . . . hell, Coulson **gaped** at him. He should get an award for that alone. Whole departments back at headquarters ran bets on whether or not anyone could shock the man. Some of them even kept prizes ready for the person who pulled it off. Too bad he didn’t have a camera - he’d make a fortune in favors with real proof.

Maybe they’d take Rumlow’s word for it?

“A Claim?” Coulson repeated. “You plan to form a . . . a Pack?” His gaze flickered to Darcy and back. “A Pack of two?”

“Four.”

Now he had two men almost goggling at him - and that was fine. It made Darcy giggle. 

“Very well.” His handler drew out the two words. “I’ll get the forms together for you. You’ll be Claiming three others into a Pack.”

“With an option for more.”


End file.
